Fleeting Days
by Treads the Trees
Summary: An intimate exploration of our nameless female protagonist's history through her eyes.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is set a year before the events of P3P. In this case, our nameless female protagonist goes by 'Makoto Yuki', and her male counterpart 'Minato Arisato'. Intended as practice for my writing; a first-person perspective, playing around with the voice and tone in which I deliver the story (even if there isn't much to go on). I'm not entirely satisfied with how this has turned out - there is room for improvement in many places, but I hope you, as a reader enjoy to an extent regardless. I'm not sure if I want to go on writing this, but please tell me if you'd like that to happen! I'd greatly appreciate any reviews or feedback, so don't be shy if you have the time to spare. Without further ado, the story!

 **Summer 2008**

I awake often, drenched in a cold sweat, a tightness in my chest. No, not the kind of tightness you feel that runs your breath short. The kind of tightness you feel when you lose something dear. Your heart sinks, a moody depression settles in and simmers over like a blanket clouded over on the inside with a sickly combination of negative emotion. Regret, loss, grief. You heave a sigh, and feel yourself sink further in helplessly. That kind of of tightness.

A tear or two escape my eyes, rolling down my cheeks, and it surprises me. Am I crying? I sob mutely, thinking to myself that it will feel better if I let it out. An involuntary cry breaks out from somewhere within me. Sometimes all it takes is that little push and the dam breaks, and everything comes rushing. I refuse myself and hold my voice back. Silently, I sob and sniff, tears falling uncontrollably.

When the tears finally run dry, I take a moment to orient myself. I wipe my damp cheeks, give myself a little wake-up slap and groom my hair with the assistance of a pocket mirror and comb, making sure everything is as it should be. My cheeks are a little puffy, and my eyes red, I note. But there is little I can do about that now.

By now, only remnants of what reduced me to the emotional wreck that I was previously remain, like a dream of no particular significance, faded. Except each time I woke in this particular state I remember vividly the images I'd seen in my slumbers. An empty lounge, a well-furbished dorm. Corridors and hallways. A classroom…?

There was more; places, unfamiliar faces and voices, all falling into place in the deepest recesses of my mind, burying themselves deep within. Sights so nostalgia invoking, as if I'd known them for a lifetime. At times, I browse the volumes in a bookstore. At times, I sit idly in the VIP lounge of a silent nightclub. Shrines, coffee shops, eateries; you name it. As if I knew all these places and visited them with a purpose, only then I would awake in my room, my mind still trying to grasp the concept of tangible reality. Slowly, but surely, I know I am losing myself. Little by little, bit by bit, something bleeds away from me.

I direct my gaze at the alarm clock poised stoically upon the bedside table. Almost half past seven. As usual, I am up before the alarm. I am still keeping to schedule. Good.

The curtains are drawn, but sunlight seeps through the little gap between the drapes. A mote of dust plays in the shaft of light, reminding me it is about time to be cleaning up my room.

"I'll get to it later in the day," I hear my voice croak. I need a drink.

You live long enough by yourself for a time and becoming independent is not the only thing that comes about. You start talking to yourself, murmuring and mumbling. You make note of things you do not usually make note of. Sometimes you do things not because you need to, but because you want to kill time. But what do I know? What does a fifteen-year-old high schooler with nothing to her name know?

Ever since that wretched incident on Tatsumi Port Island claimed the lives of those I held dear, I'd been moved around a lot, and been to many places, lived with relatives I didn't even know I had. While the more chaotic, earlier days involved a lot of moving and me being transferred around from household to household like an unwanted child, the later years I eventually settled in Tokyo and spent the final years of my middle school there before being enrolled into high school. Life became simpler.

It takes an immense amount of willpower to finally haul myself out of bed, away from the comfort it offers. When I eventually manage the feat, still reluctant to be up this early on a Sunday, I make a beeline for the bathroom. I brush my teeth and take some time to groom myself, paying extra attention to the stubborn strands of hair that refused to stay in place. After a moment, I decide that these strands bear a life of their own and give up. Perhaps an early shower will do me better. A sheen of sweat remains coating my body, and the pajamas top has plastered itself uncomfortably against my back which I had been lying on. I peel the fabric off gingerly, and off comes the top. I climb out of the bottoms with difficulty, legs still asleep.

Making sure to send both items of clothing into the laundry basket, I take my time returning to the bathroom. Heavens, it feels liberating to be wandering the apartment naked as freely as I desire - that is, when my guardian has left for work and I am alone.

I pad my way back across the modestly sized living room and slip into the shower at my own pace. With the curtains drawn, the apartment is bathed romantically in a dimness, lit only by what sunlight has managed to escape the filtering of the thick fabric.

The apartment is a sad little thing, suited for a family of three, although only the two of us live here at the moment. The wilting potted plant sitting in a corner of the balcony contributes little to its positive image. At best, mediocre is the word one would put to this place. And here in Tokyo, mediocrity seems to run amok, without bounds. Whether it be people or an apartment, something of this level can only go completely unnoticed. As the years pass, in my time here, I eventually realize there was little one could do to cure mediocrity.

I wrinkle my nose in displeasure. What does a high-schooler like me have to do with the state of properties and people in Tokyo? Surely, there remains better things to consider. Like my own positive image. If anything, I didn't want to look like I belonged rightly in this apartment.

A sigh escapes me.

I gasp when water from the shower meets my skin like a blast of freezing cold. I recoil a little, but tough it out. It takes a while before I stop shivering from the initial shock. Slowly, methodically, I clean myself, taking care to make sure I wash every part dutifully.

I do this religiously, as if my own body a sacred form housing my mind which holds all memories precious. Behind the ears, the neck, the armpits, every peak and crevasse. I rinse, then soap myself, and rinse again. The process is repeated just to be sure. Meticulously, my morning ritual ensures I am completely clean. No need for moisturizers, cleansers or any such products. Just the bare necessities. It feels more right this way. Again, not something befitting of the average high-school girl. Something must be wrong with me, I surmise.

As I go through each process, I note the uneven tan that has been forming over the summer, thanks to the time I have been spending under the sun as of late. It is far from what one can call a 'beautiful' tan, or at the very least, tasteful. Irregular dark patches the result of different parts of my skin exposed by the different clothing I wear each time had given rise to an irregular tan which I only now wish I paid more attention to.

Despite this, the parts that have remained covered are still deathly pale in the dimness. Even in the lack of lighting, I can make out the soft white mounds of flesh which formed my breasts. Much like the apartment, they are modest, but at best mediocre. Not something I am proud of. Of course, if I can change that fact, I'd jump at the opportunity. There, just under my left breast, askew from the very centre of my torso stretches a thin, cruel scar which halts just under the end of my ribcage where it meets my elbow if I lay my arm at rest. A memento from Iwatodai, Tatsumi Port island, nine years ago.

Yet, the pale flesh surrounding it remains undisturbed, as if not even bothered by the presence of the scar. They remain unsullied, almost to the extent that it is uncanny. This, I accept. It could have been worse.

When I am eventually done with my morning ritual, I give myself another look in the mirror. Soft, girlish features beginning to work their own way toward a more defined, womanly face as I approach womanhood - cheekbones set just a little too high; rosewood eyes which now seem to bear a tinge of a weariness I missed before; a narrow nose accompanied by thin-cut lips which smile without the eyes. I return to a neutral expression. How long has it been since I last smiled a genuine smile? At least I can still manage one out as I needed. Call me weird, but I take pride in my the thinly threaded lines that formed my eyebrows. With them, I can manage a whole plethora of expressions. Smile number thirty-six, I think to myself as I flashed my reflection an attempt at an appreciative smile, my eyebrows working their way convincingly into the expression.

 _Looking good there, aren't we?_

The expression fades again, slowly, and the weariness returns. Back to loathful reality. Of course the facade returns when I have to face someone, but now, I allow myself to let my guard down.

People are simple, most of the time. You speak to them looking like you are bearing an entire world's worth of burdens, and naturally it rubs off on them. Likewise, a smile and a mask slipped on, if not a genuine cheerfulness does the same, and everyone dances along to the tune, myself included. I smile, they smile. Everything becomes more light-hearted, and the day passes easy. Every day a loathsome role-play.

How sickening. How very, very sickening. "Sickening!" I stress aloud.

Don't get me wrong, I am by no means depressed nor going through a phase. It is simply the way of things. I go about my daily business, go through school, talk to people, meet my friends on the weekends and return home tired but satisfied. Maybe I tire of having to conform to what society dictates. Perfectly normal. Everything I will ever ask for and ever want. No more moving, no more brooding over my past, no more hurting over what's already happened. Just a regular, everyday Tokyo high-schooler. Short skirts, knee-highs and everything. Cut and paste me anywhere in a city and I fit right in. 2008, everyone.

By half past nine I have had my breakfast, and am already out in the streets. I spend some time at the mall alone, window-shopping to kill time before paying Seven-Eleven a visit and helping myself to some cup noodles and a variety of junk food. A guilty pleasure.

At some time near noon, my cell rings and I answer quickly. A classmate. We exchange greetings and catch up with each other, spend some time discussing how we spent our summer before the exchange of pleasantries die, and she decides to go for it.

"Listen," she says. "I need to ask a favor of you."

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow reflexively.

"Do you remember Arisato?"

I take a moment to consider, letting her words hang. "It rings a bell somewhere. What about Arisato?

"Well, you see, the truth is I kind of promised to show him around - the guy's such a shut-in I just couldn't stand it - but something's come up and-"

I let out an unintentionally long sigh. I know where this is going.

Who, what, when and where, I ask her.

She begins to thank me already.

I ask again, maintaining a formal politeness.

The mall by the library within the hour. Great, I was a mere fifteen minutes away by the subway, I tell her.

When she finishes, it is my turn. "Before I go through with this, I've been meaning to ask… what do you mean you _kind of_ promised-"

"I just didn't think he'd take me on my offer! I'd only-"

It all makes sense now.

"Abandoned on his first date, joy," I deadpan.

"Oh, I am sure you will like him," she parries.

"... Now we're even."

I hear her laugh, and I chuckle a little. We exchange our goodbyes over the line and I hang up.

Arisato… Sure, the name rings a bell, and I am sure I have heard it a few times before, but I simply cannot put a face to it. How am I supposed to know when I see him, then?

Cross that bridge when I get to it, I figure, making my way to the station. Soon enough, I am cruising along in the subway and eventually arrive, albeit a little later than I expected.

Forty minutes to go, and I will have to start looking for a face I do not recognize. Excellent. I linger around, hoping he is early and scanning for a vaguely familiar face. Tough luck.

I make a call to my classmate. She answers after several long rings.

I waste no time and get straight to the point asking what he looks like.

"A shut-in," she answers dryly.

"That doesn't help, silly."

"I'm serious, it's the only word I can put to him!"

Silence hangs in our conversation.

"He knows you aren't coming, right?"

"I told him Makoto - you - would be there."

"Of all the people," I murmur.

She must have heard me. "He talked about you a little, so I thought-"

He talked about me? I furrow my brow. I have not even a single clue as to who this Arisato person is. How he came to know me remains a mystery, although I suspect I do not want to know the answer to that.

"- so I thought maybe…"

"That's alright. But this is the last time I am letting you ditch someone on me, Saeko. You are lucky I happen to be nearby, or I'd have turned you straight down," I say, half in jest.

"Really though, thanks. I'll buy you lunch!"

"Looking forward to it."

At least I no longer have to spend the rest of my day alone. Maybe I too, am a shut-in, in a way. I'd spent the bulk of the summer alone, mostly delving into novels or bleeding time away shopping for things I didn't really need. Earlier on I jumped from job to job. Part-time work spared me just enough to get by, and a little more. When I had enough of it, I quit. Simple as that. By the third from last week of the summer vacation, I had enough to live off of and pay off the bulk of my school fees, and decided to lead my ideal life of debauchery for the three weeks it was worth.

When Arisato first appears, I decide Saeko had been right in her expression. Not a chance I can possibly miss him in a crowd.

Hair dyed the deepest navy blue, fringe draped over an eye fashionably, and the hint of a faint swagger in his gait. Even so, everything about him screams 'shut-in', as if his very being denied contact with anything outside the world he has built himself in his mind.

There is definitely something attractive about him, however. Not in the same way a high school girl would look at a member of the opposite sex. An air about him suggests an endearing trait I cannot point out for certain. For the moment, I am unable to describe this quality. It definitely has nothing to do with his looks, for he lays way out of my spectrum. No, it isn't sexual attraction either. Something about him simply drives an urge within me to seek interaction with this individual. I can no longer bring myself to blame Saeko.

"Arisato," I greet him a little too eagerly.

"Ah-" he snaps to attention, and for a brief moment his eyes are lit with interest, but it quickly resumes their original state. Deep dark orbs that eye nothing in particular as he goes about his business. "Yuki," he returns my greeting in a similar fashion.

"Saeko said…" I begin, but the words are yanked from me, and I find my speech cut short. I try again. "Saeko said-"

Silence. He tilts his head a little. Go on, I am waiting, his gesture speaks in his place.

 _Saeko said you were still unfamiliar with the town,_ I recite my words mentally.

"Never you mind," I decide. "I'll show you around. Anywhere in particular you want to visit? I have the time, so we can go as far as you'd like."

Silence again. A self-consciousness creeps up on me as he gives me a once over with his eyes mutely. I am dressed in an old tee with a pair of painfully mismatching shorts, along with a summer cardigan I slipped on before stepping out to mitigate the air-conditioned interiors of the malls. To top it off, it hurts my pride a little when his gaze lingers ever so briefly upon the bag I have slung over a shoulder. That utterly tasteless, abomination of a bag bearing brightly colored cartoon character designs I lug around solely for its practicality.

"You are alone," he says. A question, although he appears to ask without the intonation one would apply in their speech when asking a question.

I take a moment to consider my words. "I am, and I have the whole of today, so if you'll at least tell me where you think you want to go-"

"Coffee."

"You want coffee?"

Silence. Not even a nod.

Of course. A rhetoric begets no answer.

"Alright then, I think I know a place," I offer a practiced smile.

At this point, I am not expecting an answer, and true enough, there is none. I give him a look and he shrugs. I mirror his gesture and he tunes in to his MP3 player. Earphones on, volume up, everything from the outside world off. Brilliant.

 _I don't know what the deal with you is, but you better be glad I'm giving you my time._

We take the train to Arakawa Ward. Nothing particularly special, just another dreary, urban jungle, but I figure that while I have the time, I may as well do as I please. Arisato seems content with wherever I choose to drag him. In a way, I am glad. There is a coffee shop in Arakawa I still visit on occasion. Friendly staff, affordable price and out-of-the-world coffee. Truth be told, I look forward to having a cup for myself too.

On the train, I plant myself in the seat next to him, and we discuss music, although the conversation proves to be mostly one-sided, with me doing the most of the talking. Arisato continues to speak in one word sentences, if not a offering a nod or shake of his head.

The coffee shop is situated on the invisible border between what one can count as suburb and town, in an avenue flanked on all levels imaginable by a maze of alleys and one-way streets. Most of the establishments here are well-maintained, however, but upon entry, what the coffee shop offers makes everything on the outside seem like a far cry from what one expects from an establishment in a place like this.

We seat ourselves together in a table set in a corner in silence and order a couple of espressos. This time, Arisato speaks first, but only after our drinks arrive, and I take a sip from it.

"Does Yuki stay up often?"

"Do _I_ stay up late, you mean?" I raise an eyebrow and take a moment to consider. I haven't been awake past eleven since… Long enough that I do not remember. "Only if I absolutely have to. No. Judging from your question, you probably do, huh?"

"Not often," he says. Sensing he has more to tell, I say nothing, urging him on. "The night sky is different sometimes."

I cannot help the frown that finds its way to my face. Arisato asks the strangest questions. The sky is as it is every night. Dark, looming, and at times ominous. If it feels like it, it is a comfortable darkness. In the cities, it is polluted by the glow of a million street lights, and the glare of every single neon sign and lamp. Strange, that I have never considered these, until Arisato questioned.

"Is there something I should be paying special attention to? Or is Arisato secretly a hopeless romantic?" I tease.

For the briefest of moments, he looks taken aback, and visibly takes a while to gather his thoughts, as if I proffered a strong gust of wind and scattered everything he held in mind a moment ago.

"N-no, nevermind. I just thought…"

I cannot help but crack a smile, both amused and glad he isn't entirely emotionless. "You just thought…?"

"... nothing. I just thought maybe it looks different on some nights."

"Is that so?" I play along.

He shakes his head, the movement barely noticeable. I take a sip of the espresso.

"The air changes. Everything changes."

"I see," I nod slowly.

His drink is untouched, and it sits stale, unmoving in the cup that held it. I eye it thoughtlessly. We sink again into a silence. For a while, neither of us speak. I sip away at my coffee, and eventually finish it. Arisato follows my example mutely.

Sometime around late afternoon we unanimously decide to leave, although neither of us suggested it. We simply rise from our seats and exit the coffee shop. Like before, Arisato trails behind me without a word, and we resume our trip. I take him to a mall and we browse some record stores, but neither of us make a purchase. All the while, we do not speak. Only when he finds it absolutely necessary, he brings something to my attention, and I provide an appropriate response.

Eventually, the cycle repeats. We settle for dinner in a fast food restaurant and move on. Take the subway, visit another mall, browse some stores, have supper, all in silence. Like a quiet little vintage film. I imagine a subtitle screen appearing each time either of us had something to say.

We return on the train second to last after spending our night at an arcade. I have been an avid gamer - although guilty of this fact - throwing precious _yen_ after _yen_ on credit continues and photo booths since moving to Tokyo.

While I have been recently avoiding certain games out of frustration of how unfairly they treat players, we take each other on in fighters and cooperated in shooters, and even rhythm games. A dance-off. Of course, this is all done in silence. Headphones plugged in, volume up. Occasionally, he lets a hint of a smile appear, or a little chuckle of satisfaction surfaces. I simply smile, glad to see he is not entirely emotionless. Inside, I am seething. Some of these games really bring out the aggression in me. I want to land a good solid slap on him each time he wins. He can't just win like that. That is not fair.

Does Arisato visit the arcade often, too? I cannot bring myself to ask.

I give up when he beats my score in Pacman. There goes all my worth.

It is close to midnight when I next refer to the the time via my cellphone but here in the city, the streets remain relatively busy. A handful of people linger about in every street, and the occasional car continues to pass us.

"Hey," Arisato's voice startles me. I must have been drifting off into slumberland, already, even as we are walking.

"What is it?" I manage.

"I had fun. Thanks."

 _That's a surprise._

Does this mark the end of our time together?

Smile number thirty-six. "I'm glad. I had fun, too… Saeko doesn't know what she is missing out on."

I slow to a halt, and turn to face him. He pauses, a look of expectancy.

"Well then… I'll be on my way now," I wave him a little goodbye.

He stares for a moment, and something tells me to wait. I do. He takes me aback when he offers to walk me back to my apartment. I try to turn him down, but in the heat of the moment, I accept the offer.

23:57, in the streets of Tokyo, we continue to make for a similar destination.

This time, he does not plug into his music player.

Midnight. _The air changes. Everything changes._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Hey there! This is only the second chapter, but when I first started work on this piece, I had no intention of continuing, but I felt kind of attached to it, so I thought I'd write up a shorter second chapter to expand on it a little just because. I am still a little hesitant to go further with this fanfiction since I'd sort of written myself into a dead-end, and I kind-of-sort-of want to cook something up just for the sake of shipping our nameless female protagonist with the underappreciated Junpei Iori, if not with Fuuka. (ahh, she's so precious!) I may just end up writing a whole new fic altogether! If you have any thoughts, criticism or simply enjoyed the story, please leave a review and let me know! Alright, I'll shut up so you can read the story now.

* * *

 **Fall 2008**

 _As if it has a mind of its own, as the Dark Hour approaches, I can feel it. Living, breathing, but hollow. A looming presence which lingers about until the clock strikes midnight only to greet and welcome those it has chosen to enter an entirely different mirror world. All electronics stop working, clocks stop ticking, and the city is plunged into darkness, but I am able to see. Hanging dangerously low in the sky and magnified many times over, the ever stoic, unchanging face of the moon casts a grim light over the world._

 _Everything halts, even the air. Coffins hang frozen in place of where man, woman or child is, and the faint scent of blood wafts about. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. A musk dampness accompanies the nauseating smell reminiscent of an old storehouse that has been kept locked up for years._

 _At one point, I sneeze, and Arisato gives me a cryptic look. I say nothing, avert my gaze and we move on. His mannerisms catch on to me easily. It takes me a moment to realize that we are still walking on as if this is the most mundane thing in the world. The sun rises, sets, and night approaches, followed by the sunrise again. Such is the natural order of how it goes. Did someone split apart this order and forcefully inject the existence of the Dark Hour? I am pretty sure that isn't how it works._

 _It hits me all at once. Abruptly, as if I've only just realized the severity of the situation, an unbidden fear grips me in its cruel vice and I feel my knees threatening to crumple as my stomach begins to churn sickeningly._

 _I reach out and grip Arisato's arm for some assurance but end up tugging on his sleeve. He turns and offers and inquisitive look. Not the kind of assurance I am looking for, but I my prideful side once again refuses to admit to him my fears._

" _Sorry," I say simply._

I'm feeling unwell _, I want to tell him, but he appears to catch my unspoken words._

That's alright, _his body language seems to reply in turn._ Would you like to take a seat?

 _I let go of his sleeve. No, unwell isn't the word. The supposedly brave, independent and bright Makoto is feeling weak in her knees. She is afraid._ I _am afraid. And I hate it._

I discover on the first day back in school after the summer that Arisato has transferred out to another school elsewhere. Have I had the slightest clue that it was the last time I spoke to him that night I may be feeling differently. I cannot find it in me to admit to Saeko or myself that I actually enjoyed my time with him. She will tease me to no end, and I won't be able to forgive myself for looking upon him as I did before.

"Huh. Hardly even knew him. Can't say I'll miss him," I say, shrugging. A lie.

Saeko returns the gesture and makes a snarky comment. I laugh politely.

That night, we set something into motion, and our very lives changed, but neither of us are aware of that fact yet.

The classes end on an early note today. I waste no time packing up and sending myself on my way to the local mall's arcade. A few games of PacMan and a little too many pictures from the photo booth later, I decide to return to my apartment, satisfied. The photo booth is set in a peculiar manner, and beyond the dark curtain, instead of the usual glaring, fun designs with cute plastered all over it, it holds a refined air. Sleek and classy, like a lounge, or a mini ballroom decorated with carefully chosen draperies. Needless to say, it doesn't belong, but it is there all the same, and no one seems to give it heed. I may be the only person in town that enters that photo booth!

Now, if only the elevator to my apartment is decorated in the same manner, I muse. I'd walk in, and the attendant, which would be dressed just as peculiarly, but retaining a degree of class will greet me. It'd have to be an attractive young woman, and when she speaks, her voice carries her words with a lilt which evokes all curiosity in one. But she never speaks about herself, no matter how curious I am.

" _Oh, you have returned! Up to the seventh floor, as usual, my lady?"_ She says.

Or perhaps something like, " _Oh please, do not trouble yourself. You are after all, our honored guest."_

Maybe the attendant is the attractive male butler type, and speaks in a manner just as quaint, but regardless, he voice tugs at the very heartstrings of young ladies.

The trip to the seventh floor is long, and the elevator pauses for a moment to reveal a lounge decorated in the finest of velvet draperies, ornaments and tapestries. There, the attendant steps out and offers a little bow to welcome me, and I step out of the elevator and into the lounge. Here, I meet the little man who runs the place. He isn't tall, and neither is he handsome. Nothing like the elevator attendant. Instead, he is everything but. What catches my eye most will be his long, crooked nose, like that of a witch. His voice a little unsettling, perhaps even jarring, as he introduces himself.

 _Pleased to be of your acquaintance,_ he says, and to top it off, in the same theatrical fashion in which this is all going, as if he is aware of the surrealism of the situation, he goes on. _This place exists between mind and matter, dream and reality._

A completely fantastical place. Like in Edgar Allan Poe's The Masque of the Red Death, Prince Prospero's completely bizarre and voluptuous masquerade, in which each room was decorated in a very specific manner. The lounge is just like that, a lull in everything. A break in the elevator's journey. A room offering a moment's rest and respite, disconnected from everything else in the world. Perhaps its very existence is a mere concept. Regardless, what matters is the handsome elevator attendant. The man of every girl's fantasies.

Maybe the room is related in a way to the Dark Hour, even. A conceptual existence, sitting between tangible and intangible matter, and as I step in, my own existence becomes a concept. No longer living or breathing, yet neither dead nor gone. How exciting!

When the time comes for me to leave, I take a moment to glance back before re-entering the elevator. The attendant presses a key into my hand and tells me that I am welcome anytime, even if the Master isn't around. Igor - that is his name. The one who resides in the velvet room. A name befitting of his stature and peculiarity, I decide.

 _Until we meet again,_ he says, the hint of a smile spreading his thin lips.

I consider visiting again, but alas, the velvet room does not exist. Not in the manner I am aware of.

 _And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands in the hall of velvet. And then, for a moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock._

When I awake, I do not remember when I entered my apartment or when I fell asleep. I glance at my faithful alarm clock and it tells me it is already nine o'clock. I must have been really tired. My stomach growls, and I recall I haven't had dinner. At the back of my mind, images of the velvet room linger, and I shake my head groggily in an attempt to clear my mind.

Stepping out of bed with the intention to wash my face, the metallic _clink_ of a foreign object falling to the floor and sliding some distance across the room catches my attention.

 _Ah! I dropped something-_

As I approach and bend over to pick it up, I freeze. A key. Not just any key. This is the key to the velvet room. I am sure of it. It doesn't matter if the velvet room doesn't exist, or if I've imagined the Dark Hour. This has to be exactly what I think it is. _Somehow_ , I may just have managed to cross the boundary between imagination and reality. Or maybe I am going insane. Have I just been a little too stressed out lately?

Regardless, something within me snaps. It all has to be connected. The dreams, the Dark Hour, the velvet room. Iwatodai. Arisato…?

When the school year ends, I take back all I have said about never moving again. I had to return to Iwatodai. To Tatsumi Port Island. Something there is calling for me, and I must go.


End file.
